Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of this belongs me except maybe the plot. It might not be any good, but I'd prefer it if you didn't take it, cos I'm taking up judo (seriously, I am!)

I am not clever, or ambitious, or brilliant with a weapon. I do not have any burning desire to become a knight, and rid the world of wrongs, and prove to everyone that girls can be knights as well. I am not beautiful, or even distinctive like the Lioness.

I can wield an embroidery needle better than my mother could, sew passably well, and be the hostess of my father's house. I might not be an amazing swordsman, but I can survive in the back stabbing, harsh world of a Court lady, and even Lady Elressa has come to me for advice on clothes and cloth merchants.

What I'm trying to say is that while I'm not a simpering prinking young noblewoman, I couldn't be as determined as Keladry of Mindelan. I don't have the courage or ambition to do what Alanna the Lioness did. I'm all in favour of women becoming knights, if that's what they want, but it's not what I want.

I hummed as I embroidered the kerchief for Father's Midwinter present, remembering the ball last night, and how Charmine of Tirrsmont and I had sat out three times to watch Faleron of King's Reach dance. He's betrothed to some heiress though, so we watched in vain. (Though to be honest, Charmine's lost her heart to her horses, so it was really me watching Faleron and her keeping me company).

A shadow fell over my work, and I looked up to see Auma, my onetime nursemaid and surrogate mother, standing over me. With a worried expression on her face, Auma bobbed a curtsey.

"Mistress Aria, your father wants you urgently in the library. A letter has just come from Corus." She hesitated then added, "I'd not waste any time, Mistress."

I laid down my embroidery impatiently, then checked myself as I remembered that Father wasn't the type to make a fuss out of nothing. As I hurried through the hallways, I ran through the possibilities. I hadn't done anything awful as far as I knew, and I hadn't been spending too much on what Father and Edwin call geegaws and fripperies.

Perhaps I should explain. Edwin is my brother, my elder by almost eight years. He was knighted three years ago (I was thirteen), and since then he's been posted in the North, keeping Scanrans busy. He's wonderful – Prince Jasson says he'd rather tangle with twenty armed Scanrans than Edwin, and Jasson's one of the best swordsmen of their year. When my friends complain about their brothers, I just don't understand them. If I lost Edwin, I'd feel like I'd lost a father. He's funny, and kind, and generous, and vets all of the boys that come a-calling before he'll let them anywhere near me. That can be annoying, I'll admit, but I'd rather that than him not caring at all.

I gave a small skip as I neared Father's study. It was probably a letter from Edwin, saying he'd be coming home soon. The war was nearly over, everyone said so, and Jasson had asked me to accompany him to the ball that was being given in honour of our soldiers and knights, so likely Edwin would be there and Jasson wanted me to see him as soon as possible. Well, Jasson's been one of Edwin's closest friends since their first year, so he knows how much Edwin means to me. And Jasson was always kind.